


feel my heart’s intention

by paya



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Animals, Bonding, Canon Universe, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Light-Hearted, POV Third Person, Teasing, i love these two so much, the most uncreative animal names ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 07:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20188348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paya/pseuds/paya
Summary: Not a day goes by that Claude and Hilda don’t bicker. Byleth and their two winged companions seem determined to unveil what lies beneath it.





	feel my heart’s intention

“Are you kidding me? That thing is feral!”

Claude chuckles, patting the wyvern’s scaly umber neck. “Come on, it’s just a sky puppy, that’s all.” He coos at the panting animal, its fangs bore in a gaping grin stretched across its face, drool dripping down its chin. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? See, Hilda. Nothing to be scared of.”

Hilda purses her lips, giving him a contemptuous hum in lieu of a response. She resumes the task of petting her pegasus with a tender grace, smoothing her palm over its pearlescent down. Her fingertips glide over its silky fur, fondling the underside of its chin with one hand and scratching behind its ear with her other. The pegasus lets out a soft whinny at the touch, leaning into her palm.

“Aren’t you lovely, Florina?” smiles Hilda, resting her head against its soft, tufted mane. She weaves a few blonde wisps into a small braid, sneaking a glance over at Claude and his mount, her disdain masked poorly by a thin-lipped smile. “Unlike that little brown dragon... _thing_.”

The wyvern almost looks insulted, and Claude doesn’t hesitate to mirror its frown.

“His name is Gerome, _actually_,and he’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s not my fault you’re so obsessed over vanity, Hilda,” defends Claude. “You don’t care whether it’s a good companion or it’s loyal, do you? Only if it’s pretty. How shallow,” he remarks, looking down at the hay-carpeted floor of the stables to spare himself of having to face her indignant scowl. It’s to no avail, he soon notes, feeling her glare burn like acid into his back.

It’s long since become apparent that Byleth, their professor, has a strange sense of humour. They’ve been assigned sky surveillance partners every week without fail for the past two moons... and counting. It’s as though their professor has some strange interest in making sure the two of them are partnered up together — something about supporting each other, if Hilda remembers correctly — which leads to a lot of time spent together above the clouds, peering down at the cobbled fortress perched atop hills that they call both Garreg Mach and their home.

It also means they spent an awful lot of time bickering, and today’s no different.

This afternoon’s topic of conversation is half introspection regarding Hilda’s moral complexities (the contribution of the ever-analytical Claude) and half Hilda struggling to prove her philosophy of “cuter means better”. It seems the lord’s winning, his arsenal of sharp jabs at Hilda’s superficiality accompanied by his hallmark sanguine smile. But Hilda doesn’t spend three hours a week preening and pruning her pegasus for nothing, and she’ll be damned if today’s ruby red ribbon doesn’t win Claude over.

The wyvern’s also chewing on her hair.

Hilda yanks a lock of hair out of the wyvern’s mouth, sneering at the viscous coating of saliva that drips down to its tips. The creature groans in discontent, deprived of its latest meal, and so does Claude. “Was that really necessary?”

“What do you mean, ‘was that really necessary’?” parrots Hilda. “Of course it was! Claude, it was eating my hair!”

“Gerome is a _he_, not an ‘it’, and he’s hungry. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Claude’s wyvern mewls in agreement, as though in understanding of his words, leading Hilda to stifle a groan. She can’t deny that he is quite sweet towards the thing — Claude’s definitely got a way with animals, it seems. He always seems to know how to make them happy or how to convince into obeying his command, not too dissimilar to the charisma with which he beguiles those around him; it’s difficult even for their stoic professor to deny his charms. Not once has Hilda seen Gerome disobey his command, let alone seen Claude be bucked off by him mid-flight.

Florina, on the other hand, is a far more tempestuous steed, something Hilda hopes is less her fault and more an element of the pegasus’ natural spunk. Hilda’s been forced off far more times than she’d like to admit, and it’s often Florina’s choices that are followed rather than Hilda’s instructions. More than anything, Hilda hopes it’s just an effect of her lack of experience as a junior pegasus knight, rather than an indicator of changes to be made – having to improve her riding techniques would be a task far too bothersome, after all.

Claude doesn’t mind Hilda’s eyes on him as he feeds a hunk of meat into Gerome’s mouth, demeanour as laidback as ever, something the girl mistakes as a compliment to her self-asserted stealth. Hilda smirks to herself, because _yeah, she’d probably be a pretty good mortal savan_t, but it falls away as soon she notices her lord’s inability to restrain his laughter. Hilda diverts her gaze meekly in the direction of her pegasus, whose innocent eyes blink back at her with unparalleled curiosity.

“Do you want to try feeding him?” asks Claude, giving her an acquitted smile.

Hilda realises that he’s run her into a corner here: either admit that she’d been checking him out (she can’t deny his good looks, or personality, or... well, more on that later, Hilda ponders), giving way to a perpetual bombardment of teasing, or going near that rabid bonsai dragon and feeding it raw animal carcass. Regrettably, the quirk of Claude’s eyebrow and the mischievous curl at the corner of his lips is more than enough confirmation that he’s already well aware of her interest in him. But Hilda’s a woman of great pride, something she doesn’t plan on swallowing any time soon, so she takes the dripping slab of meat in her hands with obvious displeasure and steps towards the creature.

“Um, so I just give it to him, right?”

“No, you’ve got to season it with a pinch of Duscan herbs, sauté lightly for ten minutes, and then add a fine shaving of dried Brigid Carp, of course.”

Hilda ogles him with a semblance of sincerity, and Claude almost feels a bit guilty. Almost.

“No, of course not, Hilda,” he huffs, folding his arms before his chest. “You just give him it. It’s not too hard.”

“Maybe for you,” mumbles the twin-tailed girl, incoherent grumbling about something or the other intermingled with a sharp exhale. Maybe it isn’t so terrifying after all, with its long, razor-like claws, ravenous grin and dagger-sharpened fangs. Nothing to fear here, thinks Hilda, absolutely nothing dangerous whatsoever.

Taking a shallow breath, she inches towards the salivating wyvern, stretching out a cautious hand—easy does it—

The wyvern pounces forward, tearing the hunk of meat from between her pinched fingers. It gnashes with untamed ferocity, splattering grease against Hilda’s spotless ivory blouse, gulping down its meal in a matter of seconds. It watches her with expectancy, tongue drooping out of its mouth in curiosity. Claude smiles, smoothing his hand over its glossy scales with a supportive “good boy”, whilst Hilda watches on with abject horror.

“Oh, dear Goddess,” she breathes, hand clutched to her chest in an attempt to steady herself.

“Come on Hilda, seriously?” groans Claude. “You’ve killed giant beasts in battle before! Why is my itty-bitty wyvern any different?”

Hilda’s eyes narrow in disdain. “It’s hardly ‘itty-bitty’, you know. Gosh, I thought it was going to bite my hand off! Whatever would I do if I lost it?”

“No more chores than you do now, that’s for sure. Oh,” he quips, a patronising smirk brandished across his face, “But I guess you wouldn’t have any more fingers for you to display all those rings Duke Goneril gets you though, would you? That’d be _such_ a _mighty_ shame.”

The twin-tailed maiden blanches in horror, biting the tip of her thumb in worried contemplation. “Truly, it would be—hold on a minute. Are you teasing me, Claude?”

Claude presses his nose against his panting wyvern’s, rubbing the top of its head with his gloved hand. “Oh, I’d never dare do such an awful thing, would I, Gerome?”

Hilda’s tooth sinks into her lip, fist curled by her side. “Why, you—I’m gonna kill you, I swear.”

“Fine. I’d let you do it any day,” hums Claude, as composed as ever, prompting Hilda to reconsider her threat of choice.

“No, I think that’d be far too much effort, actually. Maybe Holst could do it for me? He’s the greatest general in the Alliance, you know—"

“Yeah, right, good luck with that one. Doesn’t he have Goneril’s territory to be protecting, anyways, not haranguing his sister’s potential suitor?”

Hilda’s mouth flies open to dish out another half-hearted counter, but when the words ‘potential suitor’ register in her mind, her jaw hangs slack. “Excuse me?”

Claude stares back at her obliviously. “You’ve been excused.”

Hilda wills away the burn in her cheeks, wringing her clammy palms in poor attempt at feigning insouciance. Her efforts amount to little success, drawing more attention towards herself from Claude than before. Putting up a façade isn’t something she’s ever been good at, anyways – acting drains far too much effort from her limited repository, despite how much students of the academy seem to enjoy labelling her a drama queen.

Before she can glimpse the grin on his face, Claude’s turned his back to her, coddling his wyvern and putting down fresh hay. But his sudden silence is a sure sign of his quiet satisfaction, a small yet belittling victory that Hilda can’t bear to let go of. Somewhat defeatedly, she rinses off her hands in the rusted basin and turns to Florina, giving her pegasus a rub behind the ears. It’s less to the comfort of her steed and more to console herself, a truth Hilda pushes to the back of her mind.

Forget the wyvern – this boy really is a lot to deal with, isn't he?


End file.
